


kuebiko

by deanssammy (babylxxrry)



Series: the dictionary of obscure sorrows [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Study, Disturbing Themes, Gen, M/M, but mild ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:02:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23961196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babylxxrry/pseuds/deanssammy
Summary: kuebiko: n. a state of exhaustion inspired by an act of senseless violence, which forces you to revise your image of what can happen in this world—mending the fences of your expectations, weeding out invasive truths, cultivating the perennial good that’s buried under the surface—before propping yourself up in the middle of it like an old scarecrow, who’s bursting at the seams but powerless to do anything but stand there and watch.sam reflects.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: the dictionary of obscure sorrows [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/868773
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	kuebiko

**Author's Note:**

> i didn't do this word justice, may return to it. 
> 
> content warning: discussion of disturbing themes including child death and abuse, though neither are explicit or graphic

It’s always the kids that get him. He and Dean wrap up their work, of course they do, don’t they always? But he’s left reeling on their way back to the privacy of the motel. He hadn’t taken bad hits or anything – it’d been a pretty standard salt-burn-done case, so he doesn’t know why he can’t get the restlessness out of his head.

It’s the kids. He knows it. It has to be. It’s always the kids.

“You good?” Dean asks, glancing over. “Here with me, Sammy?”

Sam sighs. Blinks. Presses his lips together. “Yeah. Here.” He doesn’t give more than Dean asks, and Dean doesn’t ask. He knows it was the kids. It’s always the kids.

They pull up to the motel. They leave their gear in Baby. They’ll be heading out tomorrow morning anyways, so there’s no use dragging it all in now. The clock in the lobby says it’s half-past two, but Sam’s not tired. It’s the adrenaline, probably.

Their room is on the first floor, across from the ancient-looking ice machine. It produces a very concerning rattle for ten minutes every hour, and Sam supposes that’s what they get for the cheapest room in the place. He checks the salt lines while Dean steps into the bathroom and shuts the flimsy door, leaving it unlocked. No disturbances. Good.

He sits heavily on the bed closer to the window, letting his shoulder slump. It’s always the kids. This case had been set up like a textbook horror game, with just enough recent activity to draw their attention, and from there, just enough cold leads in their research. When they’d arrived at the old, condemned house, Dean had laughed. _This is just an indie horror game,_ he’d joked, and Sam had laughed. They’d gone in with all appropriate caution, and were greeted with a contrite-sounding kid’s spirit. It wasn’t fully visible, though it had rough outlines of a small body. It hadn’t been aggressive in any way, almost shy to the point of apologetic. Sam had taken it upon himself to crouch down to what would’ve been eye level for the child, and asked it what was going on.

_We’re sorry we called you here, we’re sorry for the inconvenience, we’re sorry,_ it had murmured, over and over and over until Sam tried a different tactic, and asked it where it wanted them to go. The spirit had turned without a word and drifted to the next room. Sam had followed, with Dean on his six, and what they’d walked into will never unstick from Sam’s memory.

There were two newer adult bodies slumped in the middle of the room, but the rest of the room was decorated for a child, or rather, several children. Two cribs stood in the back, with two rows of three beds apiece against the walls. Each bed contained the rotting body of a child. Their wispy little spirits hovered aimlessly around, with the exception of one older child, who turned as Sam and Dean entered.

_We avenged ourselves,_ it said petulantly, sadly, insolently, _because all of you adults never cared._ It went to point at the dead adults. _They can’t do anything to us anymore._

Dean had asked, gently, what it wanted from them, and it had giggled, taking on the voice of a much younger, much smaller child.

_Let us rest, papa, it’s sleepytime!_

All of the others had cheered at that, going to hover above what were presumably their own bodies.

It’d been a quick job. They’d taken care of the two adult bodies, as well, and then they’d left.

Sam doesn’t know why it’s sitting so heavy on his chest. Maybe it was the obvious signs of neglect and abuse on the bodies, even through the rot. Maybe it was the way each child had their name carved into the wall above their headboards, creepily reminiscent of abandoned institutions he and Dean had cleared in the past. Maybe it was the stuffed rabbit clutched in the arms of one of the smaller ones ( _Lilac_ , the wall carving declared), so very similar to one that Sam distinctly remembers getting as a gift for his third birthday. He doesn’t remember if he left it in a motel room, or if John had taken it once he got too old for stuffed animals, or what had happened to it, but it stops showing up in his memories around the age of seven or eight.

Those kids couldn’t have been much more than that age themselves, with the youngest ones in the cribs maybe around two.

“Sam?” Dean waves a hand in front of his face. “Sam. Shower’s open.”

“What?” Sam blinks hard and rubs a hand down his face. “Sorry.”

“Shower’s open.” Dean repeats, slower.

“Right.” Sam gets up mechanically and shuts himself into the bathroom. He showers quickly, efficiently, feeling for any cuts that need attention. There aren’t any. The water is lukewarm at best.

Dean gives him a long look when he comes out of the shower, towel around his hips.

“Not tonight, Dean,” Sam sighs, grabbing underwear and dropping the towel to pull them on. He can feel Dean’s eyes linger on his ass.

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

“You were just oogling my ass.”

“Just because we’re not going to fuck doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the view,” Dean teases, waggling his eyebrows.

Sam rolls his eyes, but goes to join Dean in his bed anyways.

“Thought we weren’t fucking.”

“We’re not. Can’t a man just want to share a bed with his brother without it going places?”

Dean grins at him, genuine, bright, loving. Sam lets himself smile back.

Sam flicks the light off before he curls into Dean’s side under the covers.

“The kids,” Sam murmurs after a few minutes of silence. He lets the rhythm of Dean’s breathing slide over him. “They were so young.”

“I know.” Dean’s voice is a rumble under Sam’s ear. “We did all we could for them, though.”

Sam doesn’t know if he should say the next thing on his mind, but Dean is quiet and reassuring next to him, and the darkness makes him feel safe.

“We could’ve been them.” The thought sits uncomfortable.

“I wouldn’t have let that happen to us.”

“Still.”

Dean sighs. “I know, Sammy, I know.”

Sam drops the topic, at least for now. Neither of them have the energy to think about their childhood right now. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after, or next week, next month, never.

He doesn’t mention the stuffed rabbit, but he knows Dean knows, or put two and two together, when a small, white bunny plush appears on his nightstand one day with no explanation.

He names it Lilac.

-fin.

**Author's Note:**

> please feel free to leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed ! thanks for reading :)


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